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The stream (all workshops)

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The night

The night, It stretches,
Across the sky, a blanket,
An Abyss of endless darkness.

Pricks of light puncture the black,
Stars, they are called.
Small, but majestic.

I, we, us,
Insignificant beings,
Under this void.

Time, it passes,
It is never and now,
It is nowhere and everywhere

Even so, we stay,
On this ground,
We are calm.


I've never ever thought
of another
but this Earth
so many teach me
how I still live
in a FOOL'S
when all others believe in one
Geez has given me up as a
foolish one

hope to hear from you all
throw your dice will you
I shall then feel the pulse of your

as I am preparing to fly
the rainbow you say
I can't now see
SANS Shakespeare
now he's calling me


The sovereignty of ownership
and a tale of lies
outweighs the council of friendslip
is a word to the wise

Chances are that gambling
involves a coming clean
take off the stealthy ring
Golum's journey to be seen

The Happy Orphanage

Down at the orphanage it's celebration time
They're having a party, a real good time.
All the kiddies are frolicking gaily
As they get their cod liver oil daily
Queuing for the toilets to take their turn crapping
Listen to those metal doors all a-flapping.
They're as cheery as a snowman on the 1st of May,
As happy as a lonely bastard on Father's Day.

Journey to Paradise

Tired bird, Darling bird
Spread your wings wide

Let your feathers kiss the sky
no direction to any where
You'll find your destination
come what may

Fly, my darling , fly
over the hills and the sea of sunflowers

Under the bridge
where the old steam trains pass

When you meet the great North Sea
take your bow and say good night

Forceful winds that carry you
high and low within soft cotton cloud

Make your journey a joyful sight
see the world with open eyes

Beauty and the Bone Dance

(for Tara)

It isn’t for the novelty, nor to bind the injured
sparrows song to mine. Nor to pawn these faces
as sentimental gallstones of the parade’s glare, coins

from the limbo armies crowding the styx. It isn’t the weeks
novelty, spent in a locked crafts room that no longer knows

us, palm impressions without signature; the serration
of your raincoat skin, webbed, wet, your bones

like wood splinters, softer, pressing to
this goal, one white door after another.

This Scornful Dissipation

Yes, I regret
The scornful dissipation
Of my salad days
When I was strong,
Believe me,
They didn’t last too long,

Yes, I regret
All that I squandered
O’er the course
Of about fifteen years,
Believe me,
I’ve cried quite a sea of tears,

Yes, I regret
If I e’er acted cavalierly
Towards any who sought to love me
With a trusting heart,
Believe me,
I’m not so proud of my past.

To The Tune of Loneliness

I have this clock
It's not an ordinary clock
It doesn't tell the time
but it can tell when I'm lonely

It's shaped like half a heart
It sits on my mantle
translucent, it fades into the wall

All I do is put my hand gently
spread across its face
and the alarm rings
It's not an ordinary ring tone

It plays, Only The Lonely, by Elvis
It's funny, because when I hear his voice
I no longer feel alone.


It felt as if 9.10
never was,

and 9.12
would never be.

That night
we huddled closely
with those we loved,
watched each memory
of the familiar life we knew
helplessly slip through our fingertips -
gone, forever,
as we searched for
in that vacant, darkened sky.



Last night she rambled
like an egg she scrambled

then the whole night she in thoughts bled
how to avenge the man with a shriveled up pen ..

the whole night passed
in a way like as in day dreaming
wide awake she besides me
trying to scream
voiceless no one should hear
she quivered made me shiver
where is your liver
come let me taste it
you can't now deliver
go away let me satisfy myself
in my dream
sucking ye


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